The seasons continued their slow, deliberate turn. The vibrant sky, a constant marvel to Elias, shifted from the fiery reds and oranges of cooler days to the soft, hazy blues and greens of a warmer period. The forest responded in kind, bursting with new growth, unfamiliar flowers, and the increased activity of its myriad creatures. Elias, too, continued to grow, both in stature and in his understanding of the world he now inhabited. His child's body was becoming more capable, his movements surer, his stamina increasing with the demands of village life.
His fluency in the village's language was now near complete. He could understand complex conversations, participate in discussions around the fire, and even grasp the nuances of their storytelling and humor. The guttural clicks and inflections that had once been a confusing jumble were now the sounds of his daily life. He learned the names of constellations in the impossible sky, the intricate social structures of certain animal packs, and the subtle signs that indicated a change in weather or the presence of danger. He was, in many ways, becoming a child of this world, while still retaining the vast reservoir of knowledge from his past.
His relationship with Kaelen deepened. The Chief saw in Elias not just a strange, clever child, but a source of valuable insight. He would consult Elias on matters that perplexed the village – unusual animal migrations, unexpected plant blights, or difficult decisions about resource allocation. Elias, in turn, learned about the complexities of leadership in a small, traditional society, the weight of responsibility for his people's survival, and the delicate balance between maintaining tradition and embracing change.
Elara remained a constant source of warmth and support, her gentle nature a comforting presence in his life. She taught him about the village's history, its ancestors who had first settled by the river, and the challenges they had overcome. Through her, he gained a deeper appreciation for the resilience and wisdom inherent in their traditional ways, even as his mind sought ways to improve upon them.
As the warmer season progressed, a new challenge emerged – inconsistent rainfall. Some days brought torrential downpours, causing the river to swell and threatening the low-lying cultivated patch. Other days were hot and dry, the soil baking hard and the young plants wilting under the intense Sun-Eye. Their reliance on natural rainfall made their food supply precarious, a constant source of anxiety for Kaelen and the villagers.
Elias observed this cycle with a growing sense of urgency. He knew about irrigation. The concept of diverting water from a reliable source to water crops was one of the oldest and most fundamental agricultural techniques on Earth. The river was a constant, abundant source of water. It was right there, flowing past their village. Taming it, channeling it, could free them from the unpredictable nature of the sky.
But how to explain this? How to convey the idea of digging channels, building small dams, and controlling the flow of water to a people who had only ever seen the river as a source of water for drinking and fishing, and sometimes, a dangerous force during floods? Their tools were stone and wood, ill-suited for large-scale earthmoving. Their understanding of engineering was limited to building simple huts and basic traps.
He spent days by the river and in the cultivated patch, thinking, observing, drawing diagrams in the dirt with a stick. He drew the river, the field, and then lines connecting them, showing water flowing from one to the other. He pointed to the dry soil, then to the river, then back to the soil, making gestures of thirst and quenching.
He approached Kaelen with his idea, choosing a time when the Chief was sitting alone, mending a fishing net. Elias knelt beside him, drawing in the dirt. "River," he said, pointing to his drawing. "Water." He pointed to the field. "Field. Plants." He pointed to the dry soil in the field. "Plants… thirsty. Water… far." He pointed to the river.
He then drew a channel from the river to the field. "Water… here." He tapped the channel. "Plants… drink. Grow strong." He made a gesture of plants growing tall and healthy.
Kaelen watched him, his brow furrowed in concentration. He understood the words, the basic concepts of water and plants needing it. But the idea of making the river flow away from its course, into the field, seemed… unnatural. He pointed to the river. "River flows to the Great Water," he said, referring to the ocean or a large lake further downstream, a place of myth and distance in their stories. "It does not go to the land."
Elias knew he was up against a deeply ingrained understanding of the natural order. He needed to show, not just draw. He needed a small-scale demonstration, something that wouldn't require significant effort or disruption, but would illustrate the principle.
He found a section of the riverbank where the land was relatively flat, sloping gently towards the edge of the cultivated patch. He gathered some of the younger villagers, including Finn, the strong young man who had shown interest in his previous ideas. Using sharpened sticks and his small hands, Elias began to dig a small, shallow trench, no wider than his arm, leading away from the river towards a small, dry area of ground near the field.
The young villagers were curious, but also skeptical. Digging was hard work, and diverting the river seemed like a strange, pointless task. Elias encouraged them, showing them how to use their sticks to loosen the earth and their hands to scoop it out. It was slow, arduous labor. Elias worked alongside them, his small muscles aching, but he pushed through, explaining (in simple terms) what they were doing. "Water… follow path," he said, pointing to the trench. "Go where we want."
After several hours, they had dug a short, shallow channel. Elias then carefully removed a few stones and some earth blocking the entrance to the channel from the river. Slowly, hesitantly, the clear blue river water began to flow into the small trench, a thin stream moving away from the main current.
The young villagers gasped, their skepticism replaced by wonder. Water, the mighty river, was flowing where they had directed it. It was a small thing, a trickle, but it was a tangible demonstration of control.
Elias led them to the end of the trench, where the water pooled in the dry ground. He pointed to the wet earth, then to the dry earth nearby. "Water… makes ground soft. Plants like soft ground."
News of the 'river-path' spread quickly. Older villagers came to see the small trench, their faces a mixture of awe and apprehension. Kaelen arrived, his eyes wide as he watched the water flowing along the channel Elias and the young villagers had dug.
Elias explained, as best he could, the potential. "More paths," he said, gesturing towards the cultivated patch. "Water to all plants. Plants grow big. Much food. No fear of dry sky."
The idea was revolutionary, challenging their fundamental understanding of the river. But they had seen the water flow where directed. They had seen the success of Elias's other ideas. After much discussion among the elders, a decision was made. They would try it, on a small scale, on a portion of the cultivated patch.
It was a massive undertaking for the small village. Digging the channels required the effort of many people, day after day. Borin and the other toolmakers worked to create stronger digging sticks. Elias, despite his size, worked tirelessly alongside the adults, showing them where and how to dig, how to build up the edges of the channels to contain the water. He explained the need for a slight slope, for smaller feeder channels, for a way to block off the water flow when needed (simple gates made of woven reeds and mud).
It was a crash course in basic civil engineering, taught through demonstration, gesture, and Elias's halting but improving language. There were setbacks – channels that collapsed, water that flowed too fast or too slow, arguments born of frustration and the difficulty of the labor. But slowly, painstakingly, a network of shallow channels began to take shape, connecting the river to the cultivated patch.
When the system was finally complete, a collective sense of anticipation and anxiety hung over the village. Kaelen, with a solemn expression, gave the signal. Villagers worked together to remove the final barriers, allowing the river water to flow into the main channel and then spread out into the smaller paths, irrigating the thirsty plants.
The sight of the water spreading through the field, soaking the dry earth, was met with a mixture of silent awe and murmurs of wonder. The plants, which had been wilting just hours before, seemed to visibly perk up, their leaves lifting towards the sky.
Over the following weeks, the difference was undeniable. The irrigated section of the cultivated patch thrived. The plants grew taller, healthier, and produced a significantly larger yield than the section still reliant on unpredictable rainfall. The fear of a poor harvest, which had loomed large, began to recede.
Elias, watching the villagers tend to the flourishing plants, felt a quiet sense of satisfaction. It was a monumental effort, a challenging application of his knowledge, but it had worked. He had taken a fundamental principle from his old world and used it to improve the lives of the people in this new one. The irrigated field, green and thriving under the alien sky, was a testament to their collective effort.